


requiem

by cloudcloakedwords



Category: The Penderwicks Series - Jeanne Birdsall
Genre: Angst, F/M, Skye gets married, sad jeffrey, stupid dusek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 17:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20697461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudcloakedwords/pseuds/cloudcloakedwords
Summary: Jeffrey doesn't cope well with the news of Skye's wedding.





	requiem

**Author's Note:**

> there's not enough penderwick ff out there!! also, penderwicks at last was a bitter disappointment for me and just thinking about the ending makes me so mad.

_requiem /ˈrɛkwɪəm/ (n): a musical composition setting parts of a requiem Mass (a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead), or of a similar character_

He slams the piano lid. He knows he’s too old for temper tantrums of that sort, but he really couldn’t care less. The roiling fog in him twists, and a sick sense of satisfaction writhes in his stomach even as he slumps forwards on the piano bench. His forehead presses against the cool wood; Jeffrey’s hand grips the cream-colored invitation tight enough for the heavy paper to fold in on itself. The gleaming black lid of the piano glistens.

Jeffrey wishes that he had saved the tie from the Czech Republic that his mother and Dexter had sent him all those years ago from their honeymoon. It had been carelessly tossed into Batty’s possession, no doubt soon chewed up by Hound, who is now long gone. He wants the tie so that he can rip it to pieces, set it on fire, throw it from a rooftop—anything, really, as long as he can express his emotions in a way that Schumann or one of the great composers might have done. But the study of musical geniuses from a young age has taught him many things. One of them is that their lives, more often than not, don’t have the happiest stories. 

Jeffrey Tifton is many things: best friend, son, talented musician, mentore, honorary Penderwick. However, he is not a liar. He knows he is far from a musical genius like those whose names linger in beautiful fonts on his sheet music, but he can’t help but think that this aspect of life is as close as he’ll get. 

But he settles for shredding the fancy wedding invitation—so unlike Skye—into dozens of tiny pieces, until the little pink flowers are mere paper petals and his fingers are shaking, digging into each other now that the pieces of the invitation are so tiny, he can no longer get a grip on them. 

If this were our wedding, Jeffrey can’t help but think, we wouldn’t have pink flowers and cream wedding invitations. They’d be the color of the furthest edges of space and they’d have stars and it wouldn’t be that stupid Dušek’s name printed in gold, it’d be mine, and all would be okay.

A strange noise comes from the back of Jeffrey’s throat: a stillborn cry, strangled in its conception, and what little of it remains spills into the silence of his tiny apartment. 

He sits there for a long time.

The only movement is that of his shoulders, and even he’s not sure if that’s from crying or simply his lungs gasping for air between the quiet sobs.

He RSVPs anyways and sends a large bouquet of flowers too. Jeffrey ends up arriving at the wedding, a little bit late, but that’s okay because Penderwick events never run entirely on schedule. When he glimpses his bedraggled reflection in a window, he takes a minute to readjust his tie and breathe.

A door bangs open, and a gaggle of people flood into the hall, Geigers and Penderwicks and Asaberes and, judging from the language, Dušeks.

He prepares to turn around, but before he can, he is tackled by three Penderwicks. 

Jane is the only one to comment on the bruises under his eyes.

“Good grief, Jeffrey! Did you get any sleep last night?” 

He forces a smile and lies to the face of one of his oldest, dearest friends. But he knows Jane can see straight through him and his lukewarm fib, and it is all he can do to not crumple when she hugs him. 

As much as he can see that she wants to help him, he knows that there is nothing that Jane Penderwick, the author who conducted a survey on true love, can do for his hopeless situation.

“Oh, Skye doesn’t know you’re here yet!” Rosalind gasps. But her expression turns cautious, “Do you want her to know?”

Jeffrey shakes his head, and Batty engulfs him in a tighter hug.  
He sits with them through the ceremony, and the three sisters look sadly at the slouching form of Jeffrey Tifton when the minister asks whether anybody has objections to this “lovely union of these two young geniuses”.

They don’t miss the way his hands, already stuffed deep into his trouser pockets, tighten further, or the little sigh he lets out when the happy couple kisses. 

Skye and Dušek walk down the aisle, Skye’s face bright and open and Jeffrey can’t bear to look at her for too long. He averts his gaze from the groom, and looks down at his shiny shoes—bright enough to see his haggard face—and claps half-heartedly. And as the wedding party follows them through the doors, the last that the Penderwicks see of Jeffrey that day is a lanky figure disappearing into the throngs of happy well-wishers. 

A short while later, Batty goes back into the room to look for Jane’s handbag, and instead of finding that, notices a piece of crumpled paper on the floor by their seats. 

She opens it to find a page of sheet music, hastily scrawled in pencil and untitled. 

Her eyes scan the quarter notes and somber chords and rests; the sad aria and the low closing notes: a lovechild of an all-too familiar wedding march and a requiem.


End file.
